One of Us
by CrimsonRealist
Summary: As the kids of South Park have grown up, they've come face to face with the reality of life. How will they cope with their newfound struggles? ***Trigger warning: This story involves/mentions depression, self harm, anxiety, drug use and other sensitive subjects. Read at your own risk!***


_**Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with Comedy Central, South Park, or Matt Stone and Trey Parker. All recognizable characters belong to the aforementioned and therefore I do not claim them as my own. The story, however, belongs entirely to me.**_

 **Introduction**

As the years progressed, the kids of South Park had grown older, smarter, and more mature. However, this was South Park, and peace was something none of these kids would ever grow accustomed to. As these kids transitioned into high school, a lot their lives had taken some dark turns. Their lives had become an epitome of what one might call ''hell''. And it's here our story begins.

* * *

Stanley Marsh wasn't the same kid he'd been back in elementary school. The young boy had grown older, watching as he and his friends surpassed every grade until they made it to the next big milestone in their educational lives: their freshman year of high school. At first, the boys were excited to leave junior high behind and start over in high school. However, none of them anticipated the situations that would put a damper on their high school experience. He took a drag from the cigarette, the smoke swirling around him in an almost mystical sense, the nicotine burning his throat only slightly. He exhaled and kept his eyes cast towards the ground, the early fall evening sending a light breeze through his ebony hair. His left hand sat inside his coat pocket, keeping a light hold on his pack of Marlboro cigarettes. He watched in a daze as the sun began to set beyond the horizon. He took another drag from the cigarette as he let his mind drift. His birthday was quickly approaching in October, and it was then that he'd finally do what he'd been dying to do for years now. He'd planned this for months, and it was almost time to put all that hard work to use, in just a few short weeks. A lot of people would argue that he had no reason to ask the court for emancipation, but Stan wasn't one to listen to reason, not since high school came around a year prior. Being a sophomore, Stan had survived his first year of high school, and he couldn't wait to get out of there. He would get his independence...all in due time.

* * *

For Eric Cartman, only one word came to mind when describing his mom's new boyfriend: heinous. His mother, of course, was completely oblivious to the behavior and actions that the older man exhibited when left alone with her son. Eric had no intention of letting his mother in on what happened behind closed doors, either. No one was going to know; not his mother, not his friends, not the school, nobody. He was pretty skilled at hiding the damage, but he knew he wouldn't be able to keep it hidden forever. The school's gym uniforms consisted of athletic shorts and short sleeved tees with their school mascot and school name printed across the chest. That was a lot more exposure than he was used to and someone was bound to notice eventually. Most days, he opted for changing in the boy's lavatory inside a bathroom stall, where nobody could see him. He hardly ever took off his coat during the school day, and on the occasion that he did, he'd be wearing a long sleeved shirt underneath his coat. His friends found this odd at first, since Cartman rarely ever wore long sleeves in elementary and middle school, but eventually shrugged it off as his style changing. They'd never expected that Cartman was trying to hide something, and to be quite honest, none of them really cared. Though Cartman had matured since their elementary school days, his attitude and mean nature hadn't changed. He hated a lot of people, everyone knew that. However, if someone were to ask who he hated the most, no one would expect the answer to be his mom's boyfriend.

* * *

Kyle Broflovski's hands were shaking violently. He dropped the razor on the counter of the bathroom sink, blood now stained onto the blade. His wrists burned with crimson hot pain, blood streaming down his arms and dripping onto the porcelain counter. Tears stung at his eyes and fell down his face but he didn't bother wiping them away. His red curls hung loosely in front of his face, sticky and damp with sweat. His grip on either side of the counter tightened, his knuckles turning white, as he studied his disheveled appearance in the mirror. His eyes were red and bloodshot, bags protruding noticeably underneath them. His cheeks were flushed red as he continued to quietly sob. Kyle remained this way for a few more minutes before calming down enough to grab a tissue from the box above the toilet and and lightly dabbing at the cuts, gently wiping them clean. He tossed the now blood soaked tissue into the wastebasket before using his hand to push the contents inside down, attempting to hide the soiled tissue from view of the rest of his family, as well as any company that might stop by. He slowly picked up the razor, glinting in the fluorescent light of the bathroom and steadily began wiping it clean with soapy water and a washcloth; he then placed it in it's secret hiding place: underneath a loose floor tile on the side of the sink. He wiped at his tears and took a shuddering breath, desperately wishing for it all to end.

* * *

Kenneth McCormick sat soundlessly in a dark corner of the room, listening to the muffled shouts and screams from down the hall. His little sister Karen whimpered, scooting tighter into her brother's embrace. Kenny shifted slightly to make more room for her, wanting to be sure she felt as safe as possible. An ear-splitting bang echoed off the walls and Kenny instinctively tightened his grip on Karen. He could faintly make out his mother's shaking voice, followed by his father's drunken slur of insults and curse words. He was snapped out of it by the sound of Karen's stomach growling with a longing desire for food and he sighed. Their parents hadn't fed them in days. It was becoming harder and harder to act as Karen's parental figure, especially when Kenny was only a sophomore in high school, while Karen was in her last year of junior high. Karen's stomach growled again, louder this time, and Kenny groaned in frustration, knowing it could be a long while until they got a semi-decent meal. He noticed that the shouts and screams had died off completely and panicked as he now heard footsteps coming down the hall. He got quickly to his feet and helped Karen to hers before directing her to the small walk in closet in his room. He gently pushed her inside and warned her to stay in there and not make a sound until he told her it was safe. Her eyes welled up with tears but she nodded as her brother closed the door. Kenny sped away from the closet and sat back down in the dark corner as the door to the room slammed open, Stuart McCormick standing in the door frame. He eyed Kenny and ordered him up. Kenny stood from his spot in the corner and hesitantly walked over to his father. Stuart hiccuped drunkenly as he ordered Kenny to strip off his clothes. Kenny, knowing better than to disobey his father when alcohol was involved, slowly began shedding one article of clothing at a time until none remained. He knew what was coming next and he just wanted it to be over with. Karen sat with her back against the closet door, crying silently as she was forced to listen to the brutal abuse being given to her brother, wishing more than anything that there was some way to escape this hell they were living in.

* * *

Craig Tucker sat with his back against the alley wall, the wind howling in an eerie, dull sense. The cold September nights proved to be anything but comforting; in fact, they were more of a hindrance. The stoic faced boy stared into the makeshift campfire he'd burned, which was slowly dying into what would soon be nothing but the faint glow of semi-lit embers. He heaved in a deep breath as he recalled the many reasons why he was out here alone in the first place. He supposed the main reason was his father's ignorance. Thomas Tucker was in no way Craig's favorite person; quite the opposite, actually. The way Thomas constantly criticized Craig's sexuality and how the boy behaved in general was only half the reason he'd left. His mother was hardly ever home anymore and when she was, she barely acknowledged him. His little sister, on the other hand, was constantly secluded in her bedroom. Not that it mattered to Craig; he preferred to be alone. He'd only run away from home two days ago, and he had no intention of being found. He'd rather live alone in the cold than in a home with a family who seemed to hate him.

Tweek Tweak was an absolute wreck; this much he knew. The blonde knew almost everyone in town saw his excessive twitching and paranoid persona as strange and abnormal, and he'd come to terms with that fact long ago. Coping with that fact, however, proved to be more difficult. On top of his paranoia and common twitching, the boy had since been diagnosed with a severe anxiety disorder. This disorder had taken it's toll on the boy. Whenever faced with any social tasks such as a school presentation or public speaking scenario, Tweek often had to be reconciled beforehand in order to complete the task without puking or in most cases, passing out. It was towards the beginning of his freshman year of high school that Tweek had turned to drastic measures and began experimenting with different types of drugs. So far, his favorite was marijuana, and even though it was legal to smoke marijuana in Colorado, he was still paranoid about being arrested and so therefore, he only smoked when he was alone, out of the public's view. And it appeared his troubles wouldn't end there.

* * *

Butters Stotch sat curled up in the corner of his bedroom, the words replaying themselves over and over in his head. The petite blonde held back the tears as he relived every horrible memory from that day. _Stupid. His books fell to the floor with a loud thud, drawing every eye in the room in his direction_. _Ugly. He sat curled into a ball, tears streaming down his face as students taunted and pointed at him, making hurtful comments about his appearance and body. Worthless. He shrank back in fear, listening as his father scolded him about everything he was doing wrong and criticized everything he said and did. Weak. He fell to the floor, tears springing to his eyes as his bullies punched, hit, and kicked him, their laughter echoing in his head, torturing him._ The list went on. The boy had never really been a part of the ''in'' crowd, in fact, he was considered a mere outcast throughout the entirety of the school. Every day it was the same routine: board the school bus and endure the torment of his fellow schoolmates. Then, taunting and physical assault while on his long trek to his first period class. The harassment would then continue until lunch rolled around; that's when things would intensify. His lunch would be smacked out of his hands onto the linoleum floor and stepped on, a slap and a kick or two, sometimes even a public atomic wedgie, if his bullies were feeling especially aggressive. Butters took a shaky breath, trying desperately to keep his composure. He remembered begging his parents to home-school him, but his parents had dismissed the idea as preposterous and had then proceeded to ground Butters for asking such a silly question. It appeared as though the boy was on his own. Much like he had been for most of his life, Butters was left to fend for himself.


End file.
